


it's just not the season to be lonely

by colourexplosion



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Baker Harry, Blow Jobs, Christmas Karaoke, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Harry sings Santa Baby so be prepared for that, Holidays, Light Angst, M/M, Normal Louis? idk, Pining, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 21:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3091361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourexplosion/pseuds/colourexplosion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>au. harry owns a bakery and louis is visiting home for the holidays. they fall into something like love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's just not the season to be lonely

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dramaturgicallycorrect](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramaturgicallycorrect/gifts).
  * Translation into Italiano available: [It's Not Just The Season To Be Lonely || Italian Translation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7739917) by [always_strong28](https://archiveofourown.org/users/always_strong28/pseuds/always_strong28)



> HA HA HA, this is a LATE LATE LATE gift for the wonderful dramaturgicallycorrect, who is great and who beta'd this after I presented it to her. WHAT A PAL! the holiday season is coming to a close, so here's one last holiday fic for everybody! 
> 
> none of this is true, please don't show anybody associated with 1D. title from lenka's "all my bells are ringing" enjoy!!

Harry hums to himself as he crunches through last night’s snow fall on his way to work. He lives close enough that he doesn’t need to use his car, even on days like this one. It just feels like a waste, is all, especially with the price of petrol and the holidays coming up. Or, the holidays being upon them, rather. He’s got about two weeks until Christmas and he’s never felt more stressed about it in his life. People have been filtering in and out of the bakery in a steady stream all month, and if Harry didn’t have Niall helping him, he would’ve surely cracked by now.

Still, he thinks as the bell above his door jingles when he opens it, could be worse. He could have no customers at all, and that would really put a damper on his ability to buy presents for his family and friends. Not that buying presents equates to love, necessarily, or that he really has all that many people to buy for, or that anyone would particularly mind if he didn’t get them a gift, but. Harry would like to be able to give them something other than baked goods, is all.

Harry pushes the thought from his mind as he flips on the lights, smiling as the interior of the bakery lights up. It’s small, filled with wooden tables and chairs and a few over-stuffed couches. The counter and display case take up most of the back section, and there's a drink case on the adjacent wall. Bookshelves line the other walls, filled with books (duh) and games and magazines for people to read while they eat. Large – like, large enough to take up the whole wall – windows surround the door. The platforms that sit in front of the windows have been decorated for the winter season, complete with fake snow and a Christmas tree with fake presents in one. The other is empty for the open mic nights they have twice a month. Harry's strung multicolored fairy lights along the ceiling to give it all a nice warm glow, and he knows it's ridiculous, but once he's turned all of that on, the place warms up instantly. He just loves Christmas, really.

He makes his way to the back to the little closet in the kitchen where he keeps his coat and other belongings and puts on his apron, mentally preparing himself for what he's going to make today. He's got a few hours but sometimes people show up early, so he moves about the kitchen, putting the already prepared breakfast items into the ovens, making sure they're set for the right times. He noticed they were running low on some of the cookies, so he bangs some of those into the oven as well, and then moves on to his challenge of the day: sufganiyot.

One of his most loyal customers, a man named Ben, had requested it specifically, said his own mum used to make it during Hanukkah and that he hadn't been able to make it himself or find a place that had. Harry had told him he'd give it a shot, having made his own donuts before, and that's all it really was. Just. Jelly-filled donuts with some powdered sugar on. Harry could totally, totally handle that.

And he does. Well, he handles the making of the actual dough just fine, and the making of the jelly to put inside them. He heats up the oil in his deep fryer and gets his special metal basket ready. The fryer beeps at him, signaling that it's hot enough and he takes a deep breath, carefully placing the donuts into the bottom of the basket. They're probably just going to float out of it, but still. It makes it easier to catch them once they're done. With one eye on the clock, he starts to lower the basket gently into the vat of boiling oil carefully, as to not splash it around.

Then, the front door jingles loudly, and someone shouts, “Hey, anybody here?” startling Harry so badly that he drops the basket with a crash, the oil spitting everywhere, including all over his bare arms.

“Fuck, Jesus _Christ,_ ” he yells, running to the sink and turning on the cold water. He plunges his arms under, shuddering at the shock of it but thankfully he hasn't burned his hands. He'd have to make Niall do the baking if he couldn't, and that never ends well.

“Oh my god, are you alright?”

Harry snaps to the voice, blinking at the sight of a man in the kitchen doorway. He's shortish, with hair that looks soft and sharp blue eyes. Harry feels his own eyes widen, lets out a huff of breath. Sweet baby Jesus.

“Um, yeah, I'm – I'll be okay,” he says, still holding his arms under the water. He should call Liam to have him come bandage them up, just in case. “Are you – we're closed,” Harry continues.

“I, yeah, I figured that out,” the man says. His voice is pleasantly high pitched and light, his accent Northern, and he's wearing a maroon jumper that Harry wants to rub his face against. He might be having a bit of a crisis.

“Could you, um. Could you turn that knob over there?” Harry asks, tilting his head toward the fryer, still bubbling with oil and spitting angrily every now and then.

“Sure,” the man says slowly, making his way over. He points to the biggest, the only one that's not facing the same way as the others. “This one?”

Harry nods, turning off the water and grabbing some paper towels, gently patting his arms dry. The spots that had oil are red and angry, but they're small patches and he's blister-free, so he knows he's fine. Or, will be in a few days, at least. Ben better fucking appreciate these donuts.

“So, d'you own this place?” the guy says as Harry grabs his basket and scoops the donuts out. He lays them gently on a rack, using some silicone-capped tongs.

“I do,” Harry answers, placing the last donut on the rack and turning to the man. He wipes his hands on the clean bit of his apron and sticks his hand out. “I'm Harry.”

“Louis,” he says, grinning.

Harry stands there, smiling back until the oven beeps loudly across the room. “Shit,” he mutters, grabbing the oven mitts as he moves around to pull out the tray of cookies. He sets them on the rack and moves to the next oven as it beeps and then onto the next one until they're all empty and it's time for Harry to load them up again. He gets so engrossed in it that he doesn't notice the sound of the door jingling and the rush of wind as it closes. It's another few minutes before he notices that Louis has left at all, and that's only because he turns to ask him something.

The kitchen is empty, though. Harry frowns for a moment. He'd have liked a chance to make a better impression, but. Well. Whatever. He can't control everything, he supposes.

He gets back to work, putting the jelly into a bag and cutting the end off, sticking a plastic tip into it. He shoves it into one of the donuts, squeezing it full of jelly, dusting them all with powdered sugar when he's done. He'll call Liam once he's done baking for the morning and get him to come over to look at the burns. It's handy being friends with the town paramedic.

He puts himself to work, pushing the thoughts of blue-eyed boys named Louis out of his head. Unnecessary distraction is all that is.

-

“Oh, Harry, what have you done now?”

Harry frowns over the counter at his mum, wishing he'd brought a jumper to cover the bandages on his arms.

“Nothing, mum, I'm fine, just a fight with some oil this morning.”

Anne purses her lips at him, in that disapproving way that all Mums have. “I thought I told you to be more careful.”

“I was being careful,” Harry says indignantly, about two seconds away from a full-on pout. “Someone came through the door and startled me. Accidents happen.”

“Someone came through while you were cooking?” Anne raises her eyebrow. Harry had wondered the same thing himself, why Louis had shown up out of the blue at half-five and left without getting anything. Harry just supposes it's one of those great mysteries of life. Where Stonehenge came from, why the pyramids align with Orion's belt, and why devastatingly attractive boys never want to stick around for Harry.

He shrugs in response to his mother, saved from giving an actual response by Niall, who chooses that moment to burst through the front door.

“Oi, Styles,” he calls, peeling off his gloves. “Your hair's falling out of its bun. Better get a hairnet!”

Thankfully, their only customer is Anne, or else Niall would've just cleared the place out. Harry rolls his eyes, shoving Niall in the shoulder when he comes over.

“You've got to stop doing that,” he says, even as Niall cackles at him. “One day a health inspector's going to be in and you'll say that and we'll get shut down.”

“Ah, Haz, come off it, that'll never happen.”

“It could,” Harry says, pointing a threatening finger at him. “And all our hard work will go down the drain.”

Niall rolls his eyes and shakes his head a bit, which makes Harry frown deeper at him, but the bell jingles again and Niall says brightly, before Harry can interrupt, “Welcome to the Flour Crown! What can we get you this morning?”

“Do you have coffee?” a familiar voice asks, and Harry turns quickly, eyes widening, again, at the sight of Louis in his shop. Christ, he looks even better than he did earlier, when Harry was trying to see through a haze of pain. He's still wearing the maroon jumper and his hair still looks soft, but his eyes aren't so sharp anymore, just sort of dazzlingly beautiful and like, sparkling. God, his eyes are _sparkling._

“We do,” Harry answers. “There's um, there's some iced in that case there,” he says, pointing to the beverage display. “And we also have tea.”

Louis grins at that, his eyes scanning until he sees the tea boxes neatly lined up on the counter. He grabs one – Yorkshire, Harry notes – and moves over to the case to browse the pastries.

“Pick your jaw up off the floor,” Niall mutters to him as he passes through to the kitchen, slapping Harry on the bum as he goes. Harry squeaks and glares after him, turning back when Louis clears his throat in front of him.

“Alright?” Louis asks, eyeing him with a bit of a smile.

“Fine,” Harry says, a bit strangled. “D'you need anything? I mean. Can I get you anything?”

“Some hot water for this,” Louis responds, “and a cup I suppose. And whatever it was you were making this morning.”

Harry flushes at the mention, turning around to fill a medium-sized cup with hot water. He grabs a lid and hands it all to Louis.

“The um, the sufganiyot, that's what I was making this morning,” Harry says slowly, rambling like he always does, but Louis doesn't seem to mind, just keeps looking at him like he's amused. “That was a special order. Didn't plan on selling it to everyone.”

“I see,” Louis says. “Then I suppose I'll take one of those little tarts, the raspberry ones? And one of them cookies.”

Harry grabs his tongs and slides the case open, putting the tart in a little bag and hovering over the cookies. There's two different kinds, is the problem. One's a Christmas tree and the other's a dreidel and it's not like whichever one Louis chooses is going to have any effect on how much Harry likes him, but he doesn't want to like, choose wrong.

“Um, which cookie?” he asks, glancing up at Louis.

“The tree,” Louis answers with a nod. “But y'know, you better just give me half a dozen. Got some little sisters to feed.”

“Sure,” Harry says easily, sliding the cookies into the bag. He folds the bag over and staples it closed, taking it over to the register.

“Um, £6.80, please,” Harry says after he's rung everything up. Well, everything except Louis' tea, but, that doesn't really matter.

“So, this a Kosher bakery or summat?” Louis asks, handing over a ten-pound note. Harry shakes his head as he makes the change, holding it out for Louis to take.

“Nope, just have a few Jewish people in the community, and I don't suppose it's fair to ignore their holidays in favor of my own, y'know?”

Louis presses his lips together like he's trying not to laugh, but his eyes are doing that sparkling thing again and Harry feels a bit like he's about to collapse.

“You're unique, aren't you Harry?”

The sound of his own name in Louis' voice makes something short-circuit in Harry's brain and he makes an incoherent noise in response.

“Suppose so,” he says eventually, handing Louis his bag of treats. Louis thanks him and moves to sit at a table by one of the windows, staring out into the street for a moment before opening the bag to get at his tart. Harry doesn't watch him eat it, because that'd be creepy, and also because some customers come through the door and demand his attention.

By the time he's finished with them, Louis' table is empty, save for a crumpled up napkin and the package to his tea. Harry goes to clear it, his brow furrowing when he realizes there's writing on the tea wrapper.

 _Harry,_ it says in chicken scratch writing, _give me a ring sometime_ followed by numbers that Harry assumes are Louis' mobile number and Louis' signature. He feels his heart flutter a bit and slaps his hand against his chest a few times to right it.

Niall hooks his chin over Harry's shoulder, staring down at the wrapper. “You gonna call him, then?”

Harry bites his lip and then nods. “Yeah, think so.”

“Excellent!” Niall crows, slapping him on the back. “Now let's get back to work.”

Harry frowns and pockets the wrapper before clearing the rest of the table. Work, right. Work. Important.

Louis' just a cute boy, is all. Harry can handle this. He definitely, definitely can.

-

Harry spends almost two days pacing around his tiny flat before he gathers up the courage to text Louis. He can't call, because he's absolutely rubbish on the telephone. Written word has always been better for him.

**Hi, this is Harry. I need to do some Christmas shopping today. Wondered if you'd like to join?**

The reply comes through a few minutes later, the beep of Harry's phone startling him.

_Hi Harry. Thought I'd read the signs wrong when you didn't contact me. I'd love to go shopping with you. Where?_

Harry takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, steeling himself before answering. Louis had wanted him to call. Louis wants to spend time with him. Christ, Harry feels like – well, he feels like a kid on Christmas morning.

**Into Manchester. Know it'll be a madhouse, but it's kind of unavoidable. You didn't read the signs wrong. xx.**

_good to know. Come pick me up. Don't mind a bit of a journey ;)_

Harry puts his phone down carefully and picks up a pillow, letting out a squeal into it before answering.

**great! Text me your address and I'll be there.**

-

It turns out Louis is Louis Tomlinson, son of Joannah Deakin, nee Tomlinson nee....something else. Harry isn't really sure, but he recognizes the car from the times he's seen Jay getting in and out of it in front of the bakery. She and her horde of children are regular customers, ones that Harry always looks forward to seeing. He knew Jay had a son – a very successful son, who lives in London and works for some marketing firm or something or other – he just hadn't realized he might actually meet the son at some point.

He parks his car and walks up to the door, knocking and waiting patiently for someone to answer. He hears little feet thundering down the corridor and can't help smiling when the door's opened by one of the twins.

“Mr. Harry!” she yells, launching herself at his legs. He laughs patting her on the back.

“I've told you, you can call me Harry, it's fine,” he says, but she looks up at him suspiciously.

“Mummy says we've got to respect our elders, though, and you're nearly as old as Louis, and he's _old._ ”

“Hey!” Louis' voice shouts from the kitchen. “I heard that, Daisy!”

Daisy giggles and steps aside to let Harry through. Once he's in, he crouches down, nudging Daisy in the side with his knuckle.

“I'll tell you a secret though, Daisy,” Harry whispers to her, pretending he doesn't see Louis lingering in the doorway, watching them with fond eyes. He can't really process that, is all. “Louis' much older than me.”

Daisy gasps as Harry nods his head solemnly.

“At least a whole two years older,” he adds, which he knows from Jay's constant reminders. _Oh, I've got a son about your age. Two years older, I think. You'd love him, Harry. You'd get along great._

Daisy looks up at Louis with wide eyes. “Is that true?”

Louis shrugs. “Could be.”

Daisy looks back to Harry, giving him a once-over. “Alright,” she says finally. “You can just be Harry, then.”

“Yay!” Harry grins, and wraps Daisy in a hug, lifting her up as he stands. She laughs, kicking her legs as he spins her around.

“What on Earth is happening down here,” Jay asks, appearing next to Louis in the kitchen. “Oh, Harry. Come in, welcome. Louis mentioned you might be coming over.”

“Did he,” Harry says wryly, sending a smirk to Louis, who rolls his eyes and pushes off from the doorframe.

“Alright, alright. I'm glad you know my family, Harry, but come on. We've got shopping to do.”

“Shopping!” Daisy yells in Harry's ear, making him wince. She wiggles until he puts her down and she tears off down the corridor. “Louis' buying us presents!” she shouts, and Harry laughs.

“She's not wrong,” Louis says with a sigh, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He's wearing a navy blue jumper today, still looking cozy and soft and absolutely perfect to cuddle with.

“Um, you ready to go, then?” Harry asks, moving to the side so Louis can walk past him to get his coat from the closet. He tries not to stare too much at his arse as he stoops to put on his shoes, but he's only human, alright?

“Told you you'd get on,” Jay says, nudging him a bit. Harry hadn't realized she was still there, which makes him feel a bit dumb, and more than a bit like a creep.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “You're a prophet, I know.”

Jay grins at him, squeezing his shoulder before saying, “Alright, you boys have fun. See you later.”

“Yeah, bye mum,” Louis says with a wave, buttoning up his coat. They walk to Harry's car in relative silence, just a quiet _thank you_ that Louis murmurs when Harry opens his door for him.

“So,” Louis says once Harry's sat down and started the car up again. He puts on his safety belt, waiting for Louis to continue.

“So?” he prods, when Louis hasn't said anything else.

“So you know my family,” Louis answers, chewing his bottom lip. “D'you...know much about me?”

Harry shrugs and throws the car into reverse. “Not really. Just that you live in London and you're around my age. And you've got some fancy job.”

“Right,” Louis says with a laugh. It doesn't really sound happy, though. “Well, that's all true, I suppose.”

“Yeah?” Harry glances at him briefly, taking in the way Louis' looking out the window, his lower lip pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Dunno any of the important stuff though,” Harry says, holding back a smile when he feels Louis turn to look at him.

“Guess you don't,” Louis says, and proceeds to tell Harry everything.

Louis is twenty-eight and lives in London in a posh flat with his best mate Zayn. They went to university together and got jobs in different departments of the same company. Zayn does graphic design and Louis does account managing. He hates his job. Zayn doesn't.

He has five sisters and one little brother, which Harry knew but lets Louis tell him anyway, and he moved to London straight out of college.

“I couldn't stand being there, y'know? In Doncaster. It was too suffocating. London was so,” Louis makes a vague sort of gesture with his hands that Harry doesn't really understand. He nods like he does anyway. “It was better, for awhile.”

“Awhile?” Harry says gently, glancing at Louis again as he navigates through the traffic. Louis shrugs and falls silent.

“Sorry,” he says after a few moments. “I know that's a lot, and I just met you, so – sorry.”

“It's alright,” Harry tells him, resisting the urge to pat his knee or something. That probably wouldn't help anything, as much as Harry wants to find out what Louis feels like under his hands. “I don't mind.”

Louis seems placated with that, if not still a bit uncomfortable, so Harry launches into his own life story; tells Louis all about his mum and his sister and Robin, about Niall and the bakery and how he's poured everything he has into it. He talks until he pulls into a parking spot in the garage of the big shopping centre. Harry hates the mall, actually, but it's sort of a necessary evil this time of year.

Just as Harry expected, the inside of the mall is packed, people milling around, filtering in and out of shops with their bags, the fairy lights strung above their heads twinkling pleasantly. There's a large line of families spiraling out of the center of a shopping section leading up to a fake village with an oversized chair, a man dressed as Santa sat in it, a small child perched on his knee, red-faced and screaming.

“Fancy a sit on Santa's lap?” Harry asks, nudging Louis with his elbow.

Louis follows his gaze to the crying toddler getting lifted from Santa's lap and into her mother's arms. He raises his eyebrows, gives a shrug. “Dunno. Looks like he'd be up for a good time, don't you think?”

Harry barks out a laugh. “Could be. Not sure it's worth it to wait in that line, though,” he says, and Louis shrugs.

“I'm sure some other opportunity will come my way,” he says, sending Harry a sly smile. Harry feels his cheeks heat and he raises an eyebrow.

“Presumptuous,” he says, though he's sure he sounds more pleased than anything.

“I like to call it confidence,” Louis answers, nudging him with his elbow before making his way through the mall.

Harry tends to avoid places like this, especially around the holidays – isn't too fond of crowds, really – but he's special ordered one of Gemma's presents, and it was faster to ship it to the store than to his home, even if he had to come all this way to pick it up and risk getting trampled in a stampede, or whatever. He's not really sure where the store is, so he figures he'll look at one of those maps and find it or something.

“Um,” he says, smiling sheepishly at Louis when he turns around. “You don't have to like, follow me around or whatever. We could do our shopping and meet somewhere in – “ Harry looks at his watch, shrugs. “ – About an hour? Is that enough time for you?”

“Should be fine, yeah. Meet back here?”

Harry bites his lip and looks around, trying to memorize landmarks. He feels bad, because he's supposed to be spending time with Louis, but he isn't sure how much time they could really spend together in a crowd like this. He nods, smiling when Louis lifts his hand in a wave.

“An hour, Curly,” he says with a wink. “Don't be late.”

-

Harry isn't late. Louis is, though.

Not by much. Like, five minutes or so, but long enough that Harry's considering pulling out his phone to text him, and actually has his hand in his pocket when Louis runs up beside him, knocking into Harry's side.

“Sorry, sorry, christ, the lines were terrible,” he says, breathless and flushed, like he'd been running to make it on time. It makes Harry smile, which is a bit dumb, because it's not like Louis would abandon him in a shopping mall. He knows that.

“S'fine, really. Get everything you need?”

Louis nods, lifting his large bags a bit. There's about five of them, every single one stuffed full.

“Still need a few things for the twins – the elder twins. But this should be good enough for now,” Louis says, and Harry nods, because it's not like he knows what to say. He hardly manages to get Gemma a present every year, he can't imagine having to do it for _six_ siblings.

“Well, I've got one more place I need to go, if that's alright,” Harry says, “And then, um. We could get lunch?”

“Sounds great,” Louis says, smiling. “Now come on, these are heavy.”

They make their way back into the car park, stuff Louis' bags into the trunk and get on the road again. Harry takes them about ten minutes away from the shopping centre to a little shop with a rickety sign out front. It's the sort of place that sells unique gifts – handmade soaps and jewelry, lots of quirky art and handcrafted furniture – and Harry's not really sure it's what Louis had in mind when he agreed to go shopping, but whatever. It'll be fine.

“Ulla's Unique Gifts,” Louis reads quietly, smirking to himself. He looks to Harry. “I do love a bit of alliteration.”

Harry laughs, shakes his head and gets out of the car. He's here to find something for his mum and probably also for Robin, even though Robin always just asks for a Black Forest chocolate cake. Every year.

The bell above the door rings as Harry enters, Louis just behind him, glancing around the place. His eyes land on the display directly to their right, some sort of handcrafted cheese board that you can write on with chalk.

“Dunno if I'd want chalk around my cheese,” Louis says with a frown, and Harry shrugs.

“Someone somewhere might want it,” Harry says diplomatically. He's sure that someone isn't his mum, though.

“Well, bully on them for eating chalky cheese.”

The rest of their time in the front section the shop is similar to that. Hundreds of little knick-knacks that seem to have no purpose other than being pretty or useful in a way that seems completely arbitrary surrounding them and Louis picks up every single one to “test it out” or get a closer look or just to be a general terror. Harry would find it annoying if he didn't make him laugh with each of his comments. It's a bit of a problem, actually, because the more Harry laughs, the louder Louis gets with his schtick, more daring, and soon they've got a salesperson glaring at them from behind the glass counter.

They move on to jewelry, which involves Louis picking up every pair of earrings and asking Harry how he looks in a high-pitched voice and fluttering his eyelashes.

“Be a dear, tell me if purple's my color,” Louis says, shaking the large, tear-drop shaped earrings next to his ear, making the rhinestones glint in the light.

“Definitely not,” Harry says, grabbing a pair of gold hoops off the rack and holding them to the opposite side of Louis' head. “You'd do much better with a classic.”

Louis laughs, his cheeks pinking up. “You're very kind, Harry dear,” he says in that same voice, “But I want to be adventurous in my old age. Indulge me, won't you?” He meets Harry's gaze when he says it, his eyes bright, bright blue, even in the shoddy light in the shop, the sides of them crinkled up from how hard he's smiling. Harry lowers his hand.

“You'd look beautiful in anything,” he says, much too seriously for it to be mistaken for the joke from before. Louis stops laughing and stares at Harry, the smile falling from his face. The moment stretches, a seemingly endless stretch where they're just staring at each other. Harry bites his lip, sure that he's said the wrong thing, and Louis' gaze flits to the movement, to Harry's mouth.

“You're one to talk,” he says softly, and Harry feels his neck flush, feels warmth bubble up in his chest. He shouldn't feel like this from just one half-compliment from Louis, but he does, fuck he does. He leans in, just a fraction, just to see what Louis will do, and Louis' gaze snaps back up to Harry's, his hand reaching out to – to do something, Harry's not sure what. Touch his face, maybe, or land on his shoulder. It feels like it takes a lifetime for Louis' hand to make contact with Harry's neck, his fingers curling around to press into the nape of it, slightly cool but creating a hot sort of pressure anyway.

Louis leans up and tugs Harry in by the neck, but the sound of someone clearing their throat behind them has Harry startling before he can ever make contact with Louis' mouth.

The woman from before is staring at them, her arms crossed and a sour expression on her face.

Louis takes a step back, clearing his throat awkwardly and sets the earrings on the counter. Harry smiles at her – one of his sheepish, charming smiles that always works on old ladies – and sets his down as well.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and shepherds Louis into a different part of the store.

They get kicked out once they reach the furniture section, when Louis nearly breaks the arm off an ancient rocking chair by shoving his bum into the seat.

“The look on that woman's face, you'd think I'd just sat on her child, not a rickety old chair,” Louis huffs, rubbing the side of his hip with one of his slight hands. Harry wants to offer to do that for him, but that might be too forward. Or inappropriate. Or something.

“Maybe the chair was her child,” Harry says, “Maybe she's married to an Ent, or something.”

Louis stops walking to stare at him. Harry stops as well, tensing a bit.

“What?”

“Three things. First of all,” Louis says, holding up a finger, “Ents are fucking massive, there's no way she could possibly have sex with one. Second, why would she birth a _chair_?”

“I dunno,” Harry says, flush creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks as Louis walks toward him, or strides towards him, really, with like, purpose. A lot of it.

“Third,” Louis says, seemingly unaware that Harry's even spoken. “How the fuck are you so cute all of the time?”

He doesn't give Harry the chance to answer, just puts his hand to Harry's neck like he had earlier and tugs him down, but this time their lips meet. It's a nice kiss, a bit strange at first, because Harry's frozen up, his brain short-circuited because Louis is actually kissing him, but then Louis slides his thumb along the line of Harry's jaw, making him shiver and kicking his brain back online. He shifts, changing the angle and kissing back, cupping Louis' face with his hands. Louis shivers and presses up against him, hooking his free arm around Harry's waist as they stand there, tangled up in each other.

Harry knows they're making a scene, but the shop's practically empty, and the only person that could possibly be watching is the woman from inside. He's going to say something about it, really he is, but then Louis digs his fingers into Harry's side and Harry gasps into his mouth and kisses him harder.

“Think we're giving Ulla a bit of a show,” Harry says, once they've broken apart for a breath. Louis laughs, a breathless huff, and kisses him again, soft and brief.

“Should stop that before we're arrested or summat, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, tangling his fingers with Louis' and walking him back to the car.

-

They're halfway back to Holmes Chapel before Harry realizes he hadn't bought his mum a gift.

-

“So,” Harry says, putting his car into park outside of Louis' mum's house. Louis' looking at him from the passenger seat, eyes still bright from the laughing fit he'd had once Harry told him he'd forgotten his mum's present.

“So,” Louis echoes, giving Harry a soft smile. He looks so much happier than he had a few days ago, looks happier than he had just this morning when they'd left. Something swells up in Harry's chest at that, at the feeling of helping someone be happy. It's not a feeling he wants to put a name to quite yet, but he likes it. It feels good.

“This was fun.”

Louis rolls his eyes a bit. “It wasn't terrible,” he says, and leans across the console to kiss Harry before he can say anything else. It's sweet, or it starts that way at least, before Louis slips his hand into Harry's curls and tugs and before he slips his tongue into Harry's mouth when he gasps.

Harry twists in his seat, reaching over to grab any part of Louis that he can. It's awkward, because the console's digging into one side and his knee is pressed against the steering wheel, but Louis' mouth is warm and slick and needy, and Harry hasn't kissed anyone like this in so, so long.

“Fuck,” he says, panting and pulling away to breathe. Louis' still got his hand in his hair, his thumb smoothing over the skin just behind Harry's ear and driving him mad. He's looking at Harry like he'd like nothing better than to crawl into his lap and kiss him for hours, but Harry's car isn't big enough for that, and they're parked in front of his mum's house. Jay would never let them live it down if she caught them. Harry knows this.

“You – _fuck_ ,” Harry says again, leaning back over for another kiss.

“We're going skating tomorrow night,” Louis says between kisses, shifting up on his seat so he's on his knees. Harry is dangerously close to leaning his seat all the way back and pulling Louis on top of him. He settles for kissing down Louis' jaw and unwinding his scarf from his neck. “Ice skating. At the – oh, fuck, please – ” he chokes out, and then doesn't say much of anything as Harry sucks a mark low on his neck, pulling at the collar of his coat to get to the skin there.

“You were saying?” Harry asks when he pulls away, smirking at how Louis' eyes have gone heavy-lidded and dark. “Ice skating?”

“Fuck you,” Louis says, but there's no heat to it. Harry only grins at him.

“I love ice skating.”

Louis glares at him. “You're not invited.”

“Might show up anyway.” Harry smiles at him with everything he's got – all the teeth and the dimples – everything. He knows it'll work because it'll always work. There's no one alive that can resist a full Harry Styles smile.

“Yeah, alright,” Louis says, rolling his eyes like he knows Harry's angle anyway. “Get that smile off your face, you look ridiculous.”

“You like it.” Harry leans in again, kisses the corner of Louis' mouth.

Louis turns his head, catches Harry for another before leaning back to say, soft and fond, “God help me, I do.”

Christ, Harry really shouldn't like him this much already, he's sure. He barely knows Louis, but it's just so easy to feel like this. Easier than it's ever been for him.

“What time should I be there?” he asks. “To skate.”

“Seven or eight, probably,” Louis says with a hum. “I'll text you when I know for sure.”

“Great,” Harry says, and reaches over to pop the trunk open. “Now get your shit and get out.”

Louis' answering laugh is enough to leave him warm and tingly for the rest of the day.

-

Harry's lacing up his skates when someone plops down on the bench next to him, jostling a him a bit.

“Thought you'd never get here,” Louis says, leaning into him and pressing his cold nose to Harry's neck. “Christ, don't you own a scarf?”

“Yeah, forgot it at home though,” Harry says, knotting his laces and turning to face Louis. His nose and cheeks are pink, probably from the cold, and his hair's mussed up like there's been wind running through it. Harry's a bit late, it's true, but only because he'd had an influx of last minute customers at the shop and had to stay later than usual.

Louis frowns at him. “That won't do, what if you catch pneumonia and die, Harry?”

“I think I'll be alright.” Harry laughs, shaking his head, and leans in for a kiss, shivering a bit when Louis' cold lips press to his own. “Hi,” he says, pulling back after just a moment. He doesn't want to make a scene if Louis' family is here.

“Hi,” Louis answers, pressing his face into Harry's shoulder as if he's suddenly shy. He lifts his head in the next second, smiling. “Ready to skate?”

“I was born ready.”

Louis stands, offering his hand, and Harry takes it, hoisting himself up. “Carefully, then,” Louis says, but Harry only snorts at him.

“Please, Louis, I'm practically a professional,” he says, holding onto the side of the rink before stepping onto the ice. Louis looks at him skeptically, but Harry ignores it, letting go of his hand and getting on the ice effortlessly, sliding across it with ease. He's much better than most people expect, probably because he's got the coordination of a newborn deer most days, so it'd make sense if he were rubbish at skating. Of course, most people (read: Louis) don't realize that he had lessons as a child, and spends every winter skating his little heart out.

“Come on, Louis! It's fun!” He smiles at Louis as he loops around him, already having done one lap of the rink.

“Proper show off, aren't you,” Louis says once he catches up to him. He's pretty good from what Harry can tell, though he expected that. “Anyone ever tell you that's unbecoming?”

“No complaints so far,” Harry says with a wink, and holds his hand out toward Louis, wiggling his fingers. “Come on, hold my hand. Warm up my fingers.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but grabs Harry's hand regardless, twining their fingers. “Who doesn't bring gloves to an ice rink? Your hands are like ice.”

“People who were working and didn't have time to grab their stuff, I reckon,” Harry says, giving Louis a little tug to bring him closer. Louis comes easily, gets close enough that he can rest his head on Harry's arm a bit. They should, by all rights, be falling all over themselves, but it's like their brains know each other well enough to keep them safe, keep their feet moving in sync in the same rhythm so they don't fall. It's nice.

“Glad you're here,” Louis says quietly, after they've gone around the rink a few times. Harry leans down to press a kiss to his head.

“Glad to be here,” he says, squeezing Louis' hand. “You want hot chocolate?”

Louis nods up at him. “Please.”

-

Harry takes him back to his flat that night.

He doesn't mean to, not really, but Jay had come up to them about fifteen minutes after Harry had arrived and said they had to go home.

“I can make sure he gets home,” Harry had told her with a reassuring smile, but he hadn't meant his own home.

“Stop thinking about my mum,” Louis says to him, pressing him harder into the bed. They'd been getting changed for bed, at some point. At least, Harry thinks that was what going on. He has his shirt off, at least, and his jeans unbuttoned and Louis is in a similar state. And, God, Louis is so hot. Just like, so unfairly attractive, all smooth skin and built just so Harry's hands fit right on his slim little waist. He still has the mark from the day before, and Harry can't help pressing his thumb into it, just to hear Louis hiss.

“Not thinking about your mum,” Harry says with a smirk, letting out a hiss of his own when Louis' hand closes around a nipple and twists. “Fuck, that's –” he lets out a shuddery breath. “You don't play fair.”

“Didn't realize this was a game,” Louis says with a smirk, and then slides off Harry's body onto the floor, tugging his jeans and underwear down and off. He pops up again, settling himself between Harry's thighs as Harry props himself up onto his elbows to see. Louis runs his hands down Harry's sides, thumbing over his hipbones and down, over the crease of his thighs and along the inside of them. He does it for a stupidly long time, until Harry's stomach is trembling a bit with it and his cock's got hard, just from Louis' gaze on him.

“Been thinking about this all fucking day,” Louis says, and ducks down to take Harry into his mouth. Harry lets out a strangled groan, his head falling back at the feeling of the wet, hot inside of Louis' mouth. Louis wraps his hand around the base and takes in what he can, working his mouth in a way that makes Harry's thighs tremble, makes him squeeze his eyes shut against the onslaught of sensation.

“Louis,” he pants, lifting his head to look down, but it's a mistake, it's a fucking mistake because the sight of Louis bent over Harry's lap with his dick in his mouth is way too much for Harry to handle. He collapses back onto the bed with a whine, murmuring Louis' name over and over again.

“Close, close, I'm close,” Harry says, his thighs shaking, trying to warn him. Louis pinches one of them, hard, and Harry comes so hard his back arches off the bed. He's still shaking when Louis crawls up onto the bed and straddles him.

“Don't give up on me now, Styles,” he says, his voice absolutely fucking wrecked and sending a shiver down Harry's spine. “Give us one of those giant hands.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, one hand wrapping around Louis' cock and the other settling on his bum, squeezing hard as he jerks Louis off in a steady rhythm. “I'd like to lick you out, one day,” he says, almost conversationally, digging his fingers in harder to the meat of Louis' arse, making his breath hitch. “Bet you'd love that, yeah? Eat you out for hours, make you come just like that.”

Louis' breath stutters out of him. “Fuck, Harry,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut, and then he's coming, all over Harry's fist and belly, and probably over his butterfly tattoo. He can't say he minds, really.

He helps Louis onto the bed and goes to get a flannel to clean up. He wipes Louis down gently and helps him settle under the blankets before dropping the cloth into his hamper. He slides into bed beside Louis, humming out a pleased noise when Louis curls up against his back, throwing an arm over Harry's waist and nosing up into his hair. Harry's heartbeat slows to match Louis', and he feels himself drift toward sleep.

“Told my mum earlier I'd be coming to yours anyway,” Louis murmurs sometime later, just before Harry falls completely unconscious.

“Good. She won't think I've kidnapped you, then,” he says, but Louis doesn't answer, just breathes against his neck in that same steady rhythm. Harry stops thinking and lets himself follow.

-

Harry wakes with a warm weight pressed to his back, Louis' dick digging into the small of his back and a throbbing between his own legs. The sun's barely filtering through the curtains, and it's much too early for them to be waking and Harry thinks he might be able to drift back, but Louis makes a small noise into his neck, his hand sliding down Harry's stomach. God, maybe he's not awake. Harry should wake him up, probably.

“Louis. _Louis._ ” Harry gasps softly when Louis bites down on his shoulder and presses his hand into Harry's belly, pressing him backward.

“Tell me to stop,” Louis says, rocking his hips against Harry's arse, his dick slipping into the cleft. Harry looks over his shoulder at him, takes in Louis' hair – rumpled from sleep and sex – the softness to his features, as if he hasn't fully woken up yet and his eyes, sharp and clear and focused in on Harry in a way that makes arousal twist through his stomach.

“Don't stop,” Harry says, turning his head to press his face into the pillows. “Please, Lou, don't stop.”

Louis doesn't.

-

They wake again a few hours later, sunlight properly streaming in through the curtains this time, their bodies still sticky and gross from the earlier mess.

“Need a shower,” Harry grumbles, but makes no move to actually get in the shower. Louis hums behind him, tightening his arm around Harry's waist.

“Yeah you do.” But even as he says it he's leaning over Harry's shoulder to get at his mouth, so Harry can't take too much offense to it, really.

“You could join me,” he murmurs, turning over onto his back to make kissing Louis easier.

“Soon,” Louis answers, pressing himself against Harry's side, craning to reach his mouth, “Want this first, though.”

They trade lazy, soft kisses for a long time, until Harry's mouth feels even more bruised and tingly and until Louis' started grinding his half-hard dick into Harry's hip without any real intention. It's nice, easy and effortless in a way that Harry's love life hasn't been for a long time. Or ever, maybe. He feels like he could spend all day in bed with Louis and not suffer for it, which isn't really a feeling he's had about anyone he's been with.

Of course, that thought freaks him out a bit, makes him slide a warm palm down Louis' back and end at his bum, squeezing to get him to still the movement of his hips.

“Gotta shower,” he says again, chuckling when Louis lets out a petulant whine. Harry rolls them over so he's on top, settled between Louis' legs and peering down at him. He runs a hand down Louis' side, unable to resist the planes of smooth skin.

“Listen, we'll shower, have a bit of brekkie, yeah?” Louis nods up at him, shivering when Harry's thumb catches on his nipple. He does it again, harder, just to see the flutter of Louis' eyelashes. “You'll go to your mum's, pack a few things up in a bag and I'll go to the bakery, make sure everything's ready to open tomorrow. You'll meet me here, I'll make you dinner, and then I'll let you fuck me into the mattress. Sound good?”

“Sounds a bit presumptuous,” Louis says, but the way his eyes have gone dark tell Harry all he needs to know.

“Just a suggestion,” Harry says with a shrug. “Feel free to offer up any alternatives.”

Louis leans up onto his elbows, crooks an eyebrow at him. “And if I said no?”

Harry shrugs, chewing on his lower lip. He thought he'd – He was fairly certain that Louis had wanted more than one night, but maybe he'd been wrong. “That's fine. I wouldn't want to overstep.”

“You really are too much,” Louis says with a laugh, leaning up even further to pull Harry into a kiss. Harry relaxes into it, relieved. “Is there a dress code for this sleepover, or do I get to choose my own outfits?”

Harry laughs into his mouth. “Entirely up to you.”

“How gracious of you,” Louis says, and then slaps Harry sharply on the thigh. “Come on then, let's go shower.”

Though Louis covered in soap suds with his hair plastered to his head from the water streaming down on them seriously tests Harry's resolve, they make it out of the shower and into the kitchen for breakfast without much fuss. Harry makes some eggs and toast, and Louis offers to make the tea, completely ignoring Harry when he asks for sugar in his and giving it to him plain. Harry pouts at him.

“Sugar's for the weak,” Louis says, knocking his hip into Harry's as he goes to take a seat at the rickety table. Harry watches him go, smiling slightly at the sight of his joggers on Louis' slight frame, the ends of them rolled up so he doesn't trip over them. The shirt he's chosen is much too big, even though Harry told him he had some smaller ones. (“Like to feel free, I do,” Louis had said as he slipped the shirt on. Harry hadn't had it in him to protest. Besides, he was the one who offered his wardrobe to Louis in the first place.)

“Then consider me weak,” Harry answers, dropping in a spoonful and stirring. He loads up the plates and brings Louis his, hooking his foot around Louis' ankle when he sits down. They eat in comfortable silence until their plates are cleared, and Harry leans back in his chair to finish his tea. Louis grins at him and Harry feels that same feeling bloom in his chest, the one he doesn't like to think about, because he knows Louis is leaving eventually.

“My birthday's in a few days.” Louis is looking down into his mug when he says it, and Harry's not sure how to reply, really. “A few of my friends are coming up for it. Well, just one, just Zayn, I suppose. But, um,” He looks up, giving Harry a tentative smile. “I'd like it if you came to the...party or whatever.”

Harry smiles. “Of course, Louis. Wouldn't miss it. Just give me the details, yeah?”

“Sure.” Louis nods, and finishes off his tea. They part ways, and Harry maybe spends less time at the bakery then he should and skives off early to go to the Tesco and pick things up for dinner.

It feels a bit mad that he's going through all this for a bloke he barely knows, but he likes to think he knows the important things about Louis. He knows how Louis likes his tea and he knows that he can't cook for anything and he knows what he sounds like when he comes. And he knows most of the boring stuff, like his surname and his age and his phone number. It's not really like any fling Harry's ever had before – definitely feels more like the beginning of a relationship, in fact – but he knows he can't just go around labeling what they are without discussing it with Louis first. Hell, he's not even sure if there's any point in discussing it with Louis at all. He's only on vacation, and Harry knows that.

This has to be casual, then. Harry can do that. He can.

Even if there's not really anything casual about cooking dinner for someone and then taking them to bed. Even if there's nothing casual in the way Louis takes his time fingering Harry open and even if there's nothing casual about the way Harry says Louis' name when he comes, soft and pleading and shaking apart.

They can just ignore all that, maybe. To keep it casual.

-

Louis' birthday turns out to be on Christmas Eve. Harry's mum get a bit put out when he tells her he's skiving off dinner early, but then he promises to make all the desserts for Christmas Dinner and she's fine with it. Harry doesn't really know what sort of place might be open on Christmas Eve, especially in Holmes Chapel, but apparently Louis' found a place that will be open at least until ten.

“We can always move the party back to my place,” Harry tells him, and Louis answers him with a laugh, leering a bit when he says,

“Good, I was planning on it, love.”

“Presumptuous,” Harry says, and leans down for a kiss before he can say anything else.

The place open turns out to be a pub, which isn't all that surprising. What _is_ surprising, though, is how packed it is on Christmas Eve. It takes Harry ages to find Louis where he's crammed into a booth in the back, flanked by Niall and who he assumes is Zayn. He looks bored out of his mind though, especially since Niall and Zayn seem to be having some sort of intense conversation right over him. He brightens when he spots Harry, though, sitting up straighter and shoving at Zayn until he can get out of the booth and tackle Harry in a hug.

“Thank fuck you're here, they've been talking about curried chicken for the past ten minutes.”

Harry laughs and wraps him up in a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Louis leans up, goes up on his toes to kiss Harry on the mouth, lingering there for a moment. That non-casual feeling blooms in Harry's chest again, but he ignores it, stifles it down.

“Happy birthday,” he says, pressing a kiss to the tip of Louis' nose, smiling when he blushes.

“Thank you, darling.” Louis pats Harry's cheek and extracts himself, sliding back into the booth, knocking Zayn closer to Niall to make room for Harry. Niall lifts a hand in a wave and Harry raises an eyebrow at him.

“Niall, what are you even doing here?”

“Ran into him –” He gestures to Zayn with his thumb “ – At the bar. Told me he didn't want to be stuck with you two all night so I joined them.”

Harry looks to Zayn, who shrugs, and then to Louis, who also shrugs. Right. Okay.

“Well,” he says, looking at Zayn, “I'm Harry. It's nice to meet you.”

“Same, mate. Nice to meet you, especially since Louis won't shut up about y – ”

“That's enough, thank you!” Louis interrupts, waving down a waiter. He orders a pitcher and two rounds of shots, yelling out a “Happy Birthday to me!!” before taking the first one. It goes down like rubbing alcohol, but Harry doesn't have much time to ponder on it before they're doing another one.

He's glad he remembered to eat just before coming, or else he'd have been three sheets to the wind a half an hour in. As it is, by the time there's someone dressed as an elf wandering around doing karaoke sign ups, he's pretty fucking tipsy.

“Karaoke!” He scrambles out of the booth as he shouts it, nearly tackling the nice elf-man. “Sorry,” Harry mutters, and then takes his pen, scrawling his name down. “S'it Christmas themed?” The elf-man shrugs, and Harry scrawls _Santa Baby_ in the space next to his name.

“Cheers,” the elf says, taking back his pen. Harry gives him a winning smile and a kiss on his cheek for his troubles.

“Down now, Hazza, you've harassed the poor man enough,” a voice says in his ear, strong hands gripping his arms. Surprisingly strong, considering how small they feel. He only knows one person with hands as small as that.

“Louis! I signed up for karaoke,” he says, stumbling back into the booth. Louis laughs and pets his hair a bit, and that feels so good that Harry wants him to do it again, so he shoves his head on Louis' shoulder and whines into his neck until he does it.

“Might have to sober you up a bit, eh? Can't have you singing in this state.”

“I'm fine, Lou.” It's just that Louis' hand in his hair is putting him to sleep, a bit. “Maybe some water.”

Louis stops moving his hand and pulls away slightly. “'Course, love. Just a moment.”

“Okay,” Harry says, and flops down on the table as Louis disappears to get him some water.

“You really like him, huh?”

Harry lifts his head to look at Zayn, who's looking down at him with a bemused expression. Harry's going to be so embarrassed about all this tomorrow. Right now, though, he doesn't give a shit.

“I do,” he answers, sitting up properly.

Zayn looks at him a moment, and Harry has to fight not to shrink under the scrutiny. “You're good for him,” he says eventually, taking a sip of his drink. “You make him happy.”

Harry turns his head away for a moment, only to immediately catch Louis' gaze where he's standing at the bar, as if he knew Harry was going to search him out unconsciously. It feels like that a lot, with him. Like they're in sync all the time. Like they're just two parts of one whole. It makes Harry's chest feel tight and fluttery all at once, makes it a bit difficult for him to breathe. He smiles at Louis, who makes a goofy face back, and turns back to Zayn.

“That's all I want,” Harry says with a shrug, feeling very sober all of a sudden. “For him to be happy.”

Zayn nods like he approves and Louis comes back to the booth, sliding in and setting a glass of water down in front of Harry. Harry picks it up, chugs it quickly and turns to plant a kiss on Louis' mouth.

“Thank you,” he says, and Louis laughs at him.

“You're welcome, love. You want more?”

Harry shakes his head, already feeling like his mind's clearing out a bit. Niall comes back to the booth from where ever he'd fucked off to with Liam in tow, and promptly starts a discussion (read: argument) about which member of N*SYNC had the best hair.

“Clearly not Timberlake, then,” Louis says, and Liam frowns at him from across the table.

“Hey, it was a signature look,” he says, and Louis honest to God snorts at him. Harry finds it endearing, somehow. He settles a hand on Louis' thigh before things can get out of control.

“Not worth it,” he murmurs, and Louis huffs but lets the subject drop.

It's only a few minutes later that someone's saying Harry's name over the PA system, calling him up onstage for the Christmas-themed karaoke. He goes, even with the lads at the booth ribbing him, and takes his position, turning on the mic.

“Hiiii, thanks,” he says, clearing his throat. “So, um. It's my – er – it's Louis' birthday, and he's sat over there in the back, so this song is for him.”

He nods to the elf man, who's now running the machine, it seems, and smirks as the familiar _ba-bums_ of Santa Baby start up. The crowd cat-calls and cheers when Harry starts swaying his hips to the bass line, and he's proud to say that his face only flushes a little when he starts to sing.

The crowd eats it up, whistling and yelling every time Harry refers to himself as “girl” or any time he glances to the booth, where Louis' face is growing steadily redder and redder. Harry gives a little hair flick, sends a wink back to him and finishes up the song with a bow, laughing as Louis buries his head in his arms.

He makes his way back through the crowd, thanking the people who compliment him and ignoring the ones who jeer, because fuck them. It's Christmas Eve, it's Louis' birthday and Harry's just sung his stupid little heart out to a boy that's going to leave him soon. He'll do as he pleases.

“You are too fucking much,” Louis says, pulling Harry down into the seat beside him and kissing him hard on the mouth.

“You're welcome,” Harry mumbles out between the hard presses of their lips. “Wow, Louis, thank you, I'm glad you liked it.”

“Shut up, you sarcastic little shit,” Louis says, biting at the hinge of Harry's jaw. The other lads have all disappeared somewhere, and that's probably for the best. Harry's sure they wouldn't want to see this.

“Take me home,” Louis says, breath hot on Harry's ear. “Please, Harry. Take me home.”

Harry doesn't need to be told twice.

-

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Louis moans, his back arching up off the door, where Harry's currently got him pinned with a hand down his trousers. “Fuck, Harry – ”

“Yeah?” Harry's voice is a low rumble, just like it always gets when he's this worked up, and he can tell it surprises Louis from the way he shivers. “You like that?”

“Please.” Louis looks up at him, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. “I don't want to come like this.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at that, carefully extracts his hand from Louis' jeans. There's a tingle of anticipation running up his spine, like he knows, however this goes, it's going to be good. “How d'you want to come, then?”

Louis leans up, presses a kiss to Harry's mouth, and another one and another one until Harry's hunched over, his mouth wrecked from Louis' lips and sharp little teeth.

“Want you to eat me out,” Louis says, nosing up behind Harry's ear, dragging his teeth along Harry's jaw. “Eat me out and then fuck me, yeah?”

Harry lets out a slow, shuddery breath, his eyes shutting of their own accord. He opens them a moment later, nodding down at Louis.

“Yeah,” he says, “Anything you want.”

Louis grins at him, wolf-like and hungry, and pushes him toward the bedroom. They make it there with minimal stumbling – on Harry's part too, yes – stripping off their clothes as they go. Louis' down to just his pants by the time he splays himself across the bed on his belly, and Harry abandons his attempts to get himself out of his skinny jeans.

“God, Louis,” he says, knowing how reverent he must sound. He feels reverent, is the thing, just completely in awe of Louis and the sight of him spread out on the bed. “Gonna make you feel so good,” he adds, hands curling in the waistband of Louis' pants and pulling them off. He finds a pillow and shoves it under Louis' hips before climbing on the bed, settling between Louis' legs and staring at the planes of his back.

Harry runs his hands down and over all of the smooth skin, thumbs digging in on either side of Louis' spine, making him cry out in pleasure. He finds all the knots and works them out until Louis is pliant and relaxed against the bed, and then he scoots down, pressing kisses down his back as he goes.

“Been thinking about this forever,” he says, running his hands over Louis' arse, giving one side a light smack to watch it move. Louis makes a choked off noise and writhes against the bed, gasping as Harry runs a hand over the slight redness on his bum cheek.

“Stop teasing,” Louis grits out, pushing his hips back into Harry's hand, and Harry chuckles.

“Sorry,” he says, “Sorry sorry sorry.” And he leans down, spreads Louis' cheeks apart with his thumbs and licks a broad stripe from his balls to the top of his bum.

It's – the thing is, eating arse isn't something that Harry can really glorify to himself. It's an arse, he knows, and none of them (the one's he's met, at least) taste like anything except soap and sweat and, well, _arse._ But Harry likes it, mostly how it tends to make people fall apart, but also how it feels to do that, sort of. To make those people fall apart. To make Louis fall apart, at the very least. Harry could probably do that every day for the rest of his life.

He grips Louis' hips and licks him out with purpose, starts with little kitten licks around the rim and alternates with the broad, flat of his tongue until it's wet with spit and Louis' hips are moving minutely under his hands, trying to get friction on the pillow below him. He doesn't know how long he's at it, only knows that it's so long that his arms start to cramp a bit and Louis has gone completely still, except for the occasional shiver up his spine.

Harry pulls away and Louis makes a weak noise. “You good?” Harry asks, petting over his hip. Louis nods and rolls over, crooking his finger at Harry in an unmistakable gesture.

“C'mere. Wanna kiss you.”

Harry crawls up the bed, still struggling to kick his jeans off. Louis reaches down to help, tugging on them until they go away. Harry looks back at Louis once they're off, brushing his sweaty hair out of his face. “You sure you wanna kiss me?”

Louis nods, so Harry does, keeping it chaste and sweet. Louis' isn't having it though, not judging by the way he rakes his nails down Harry's chest so suddenly that Harry curls forward with a ragged groan.

“ _Fuck_ , Louis,” he says, shivering.

“Like that, yeah?” Louis says, running his fingers over the red marks that have already bloomed. “I want you to fuck me.”

Harry nods and digs through his bedside table for the lube and condom, managing to find them even though Louis has taken it upon himself to attack Harry's chest with his mouth, lingering over his nipples, biting at them until they're throbbing and sensitive when Louis pulls away.

“You look so good like that,” Louis murmurs, tilting his head up to kiss Harry again, shifting so his legs hook over Harry's hips. “Like this, I mean.”

“Yeah, you too,” Harry answers, because it's easier than saying _I think I probably love you_ and ruining the whole night.

He gets his fingers wet and goes to work, getting Louis nice and wet and ready before he tears the condom open and rolls it on.

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” he says, pushing in when Louis nods, past the tight clench of his rim and until it gives way to the all-encompassing heat of Louis' body. He pauses once he's gone as far as he can, waiting for the muscles in Louis' stomach to stop fluttering and for Louis to open his eyes and look up at him.

“You can move,” Louis says, and Harry does. 

-

Harry wakes on Christmas morning from a soft kiss on his mouth and he smiles into it, keeping his eyes shut.

“Good morning,” Louis says, kissing the tip of his nose. Harry's chest feels fluttery, his arms all tingly, but that could be from waking up. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Harry says, letting out a hum as Louis' warm skin settles over his own. He cracks an eye open, shutting it again when Louis kisses him on the mouth.

Harry could get used to this, is all. Honestly he probably already has gotten a bit used to it, which is only going to make Louis leaving even more difficult. He has a sudden urge to ask him, to just rip off the band-aid and find out how much time they have left, but he can't. He's weak, and it's Christmas.

He kisses back, instead, letting himself indulge in all the little noises Louis makes into his mouth and the way his breath goes all shuddery when Harry palms at his bum.

“Better get to mum's,” Louis says when they finally pull apart. “She'll have saved me some breakfast.”

Harry nods, his hands sitting firmly around Louis' hips. “Suppose that means we'll need to get out of bed.”

“Suppose so,” Louis says, but neither of them moves. Louis stays put on top of Harry's stomach and Harry lets him, doesn't let go of his hips but doesn't lean up for another kiss either. They just look at each other, Harry trying his hardest to memorize this for when Louis' gone back to London and Louis – well, Harry's not sure what Louis' thinking, but he keeps scanning his gaze over Harry's body like he never wants to forget it.

“We should go,” Harry whispers eventually, letting his hands slide from Louis' skin. Louis nods wordlessly and slips off him, standing to rifle through the bag full of clothes he's been keeping at Harry's flat. Harry watches him dress from his position on the bed, doesn't move even after Louis' gone into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, trying to convince himself that he has some semblance of control over his own life before sitting up and getting dressed.

By the time he walks into the kitchen, Louis' already in there, staring at something on the work space next to the sink. He turns as Harry enters.

“What's this, Haz?”

“Oh, um.” Harry chews on his lip. He'd forgotten about it, actually. Been so preoccupied with getting Louis to bed that he hadn't even remembered. “Made you a birthday cake.”

Louis frowns at him. “Why?”

“Because it was your birthday? And I'm a baker.” Maybe Louis forgot that, or something. “So, cake.”

Louis doesn't answer, just stares at him a moment more and then looks down at the cake. It's a plain thing on the outside, nondescript round cake with white frosting, _Happy Birthday Louis!!_ written on it. The inside's red-velvet, because he doesn't know anyone that doesn't love a good red velvet cake.

“Well,” Louis says eventually, his voice a little tight. “Are we going to eat it?”

Harry walks up behind him, grabbing the edge of the counter on either side of Louis' torso. “Could do. Cake for breakfast, then?”

Louis leans back into him, and Harry feels him relax a bit. “Yeah,” he says, “Sounds perfect.”

Harry snorts and opens the drawer to their left, grabbing a cake server. He stays just where he is to cut the cake, reaching around Louis to do so and handing him the first piece.

“You're lovely, Harry, this is lovely,” Louis says after he's taken the first bite. He's got frosting on the corner of his mouth, and Harry ducks in to kiss it off. Louis turns his head to catch his mouth and it's perfect, just a fucking perfect kiss, what with Louis' soft lips moving against his and his mouth tasting sweet and sugary. Harry sighs into it and then pulls away, because if he doesn't he thinks he may cry. Which would be embarrassing and potentially life-ruining.

“I've got to go,” he says, his voice only mildly frog-like. Louis just nods and takes another bite of cake.

“We can do a Boxing Day celebration?” Louis sounds hopeful when he asks, and Harry nods.

“I've got, um, I've got work, but I should be done by five or six. You can just – come here. If that works for you?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Of course it does,” he says, taking a step closer. “Don't have anywhere else to be, have I?”

“You could be with your family,” Harry says, biting at his lower lip. _You should be with your family,_ he thinks. _They'll hate me for stealing up all your time._

“They're driving me mad,” Louis says with a shake of his head. He puts his cake down on the counter behind him and turns back to Harry, leaning up for another sugary sweet kiss. “I'd much rather be here.”

Harry smiles, but he can tell it's strained. It has to be, because his heart's kicked up in his chest and it's taking everything he has not to blurt out something idiotic like, _I love you._

“If you're sure,” he says, and Louis nods.

“I am.”

And, well, that settles that.

-

Boxing Day at the bakery is frantic, tons of patrons bustling in and out of the doors with their families, returning gifts and seeing the sights and just enjoying their vacation. Harry's sure he and Niall will make a killing in tips, but he doesn't know if the chaos is worth it.

He's glad he made extras of everything before going to Louis' birthday party on Christmas Eve, because if he hadn't he'd be stuck in the kitchen – most likely injuring himself trying to get everything done as quickly as possible – and he wouldn't be able to help Niall.

Christ, he really needs to hire someone else, maybe. Or see if one of his family members will volunteer their precious time for free. Probably not, though.

There's a slight lull in the afternoon, right after the lunch rush has ended. Harry takes the time to count through the register as surreptitiously as possible, taking the extra cash to put in the lockbox in his office.

“You got any more of them Christmas cookies?” Harry's head snaps up from the till at the familiar voice, and he finds himself smiling as he sees Louis standing at the counter.

“Suppose so, for the right price,” Harry answers, making a note on his paper and closing the register again. The place is practically empty with only a couple at a table in the corner and an old man sitting in an armchair and reading the paper. Harry figures Louis isn't about to steal from his register, but still. Can't be too careful. “Just a moment, I'll be right back.”

When he emerges again from the back office, Niall's laughing at something Louis' saying and digging out the cookies from the display case.

Harry raises his eyebrows, leans against the case. “Are you buying all of them?”

“Have to, don't I? Those siblings of mine are ravenous.”

“Think you ought to feed them something other than cookies, Lou.”

“Nah,” Louis says, shaking his head. He hands Niall a twenty-pound note, taking the bag in exchange. He waves off Niall's change. “That's me mum's job, innit? I'm here to spoil them.”

Harry laughs, leaning in as Louis walks over to him. He can't help it, is the thing. He feels this ridiculous sort of pull to Louis every time he's around, finds himself leaning in or reaching out or looking around for him, no matter where they are. Louis hasn't seemed to notice, or if he has, he doesn't mention it.

“See you tonight?” Harry asks, tracing Louis' jaw line with his fingertips. Louis nods, and holds Harry's hand in place with his own as he turns his head to kiss the center of Harry's palm, nuzzling into it a bit. It sends Harry's heart rate spiking, makes him feel jittery and ridiculous and so so in love.

This can't go on.

He pulls his hand from Louis', leaning down to give him a peck on the top of the head. “Get going, then,” Harry says, clearing his throat. “See you later.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, watching him a bit suspiciously, as if Harry's acting oddly. He supposes he sort of is, but really he's just trying not to get his heart broken. “See you.”

Harry gives him a wave and goes and hides in the kitchen like the coward he is.

-

Louis is already in Harry's flat when Harry gets home from work. He walks in to the sight of Louis on his couch, his socked feet propped up on the coffee table and wearing the joggers from the first time he'd stayed over. He looks like he fits right in, so at home that Harry wants to cry with it.

“Well,” Harry says, clearing his throat. Louis looks over at him, smiling. “This is a surprise.”

“A good one, I hope,” Louis says, and Harry nods. This seriously can't go on. Harry can't keep falling for this boy without knowing how much time he has left. They have to talk about it. Harry has to know.

He moves through the flat carefully, steeling himself up for the conversation while putting his things away. Keys and wallet on the kitchen table, coat on the hook by the door, his scarf on the hook next to it. He toes off his boots and runs a hand through his hair, giving Louis one last glance before making his way into the bedroom to change out of his dirty work shirt.

He sits on the bed for a moment after he's changed, a hand over his mouth, trying to figure out how to ask Louis what he needs to know.

“You alright?” Louis's voice comes from the doorway, and Harry looks up to see him leaning against the frame casually, one hand behind his back, holding something. God. His throat goes tight with it, with how much he wants Louis here every single day.

“Here, this is for you,” Louis says, passing a horrendously wrapped box to Harry and taking a seat on the bed next to him. The silver paper's puckered up at one corner and pulled far too tightly at the other end. The ribbon has been haphazardly taped to one side, probably to keep it from falling off.

“Didn't spring for the professional gift wrap, I see,” Harry says with a croaky laugh. He worries his lip between his teeth again, turning the box over in his hands. “I didn't get you anything.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “I don't care, shut up and open the box.”

Harry laughs again, quieter this time and sets the box down on the bed next to him, taking a breath.

“Harry?” Louis asks, narrowing his eyes. “What's the matter? Open your gift.”

“Later,” Harry says, turning to him. “I need to um – I need to ask you something.”

Louis frowns and sits back. “Okay.”

“Um. God.” Harry laughs at himself, runs a hand through his hair. Best to just get it over with, probably. He looks away from Louis, from his searching blue eyes and looks at the wall. The wall can't hurt him. “When are you – when are you leaving? Like, to go back to London.”

Louis freezes next to him. “What?” he says, his voice rough, and then, “D'you want me to go?”

“What?” Harry says, his head snapping to the side to look at Louis again. He looks sort of angry, with his mouth twisted just so and his normally kind eyes gone hard. “No, Louis, I don't want you to go.”

_I don't want you to go at all._

“Then why are you asking me when I'm leaving?” Yeah, Louis definitely sounds angry now.

“So I know how much time I have left with you,” Harry says, a bit frazzled. This isn't really going how he planned. “I mean I –” He takes a deep breath, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes for a moment. Might as well go all in. “I really like you, Louis. Like, really like you. I'd just like to be able to – to prepare myself. For, you know. When you leave.”

Louis deflates at that and looks away, pinching his bottom lip between his fingers. He looks almost guilty, which wasn't Harry's intention.

“Hey,” Harry starts, “I'm really –”

“I'm leaving tomorrow,” Louis says, interrupting him and still not looking at him. “The twenty-seventh. The morning train.”

“Oh.” Harry's glad he was already sitting down, because he feels a bit dizzy, as if the world as turned on its side and righted itself quickly, but also sort of like his chest is collapsing. “Tomorrow.”

“I'm sorry,” Louis says, and he sounds miserable about it. Harry wonders just what he's sorry for. For not telling him, or for making him fall in love in the first place.

“So you weren't going to tell me.” It's a guess, but it's the right one. Harry can tell by the way Louis pinches his lip harder and looks down at the duvet. He seems so childlike, all of a sudden. Immature and unsure and like someone who's been caught doing something they know they're not supposed to. Harry feels a bit like he might throw up.

“Suppose not,” Louis finally whispers, and Harry chokes out a laugh. It's all he can do, really. Laugh. Or else he'd be crying.

He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes again and stands. “Did it not mean anything to you at all, then? You were just going to – to what, fuck me and then sneak out and never talk to me again?”

Louis flinches. “Of course it meant something, Harry. Things run their course. That's how it is.”

“You're so full of shit,” Harry spits, really properly angry now. He never gets angry, not really. Annoyed, sure, annoyed at customers or at his mum or at Niall or at Liam, but he never gets _angry._ “God. Of course things run their course if you don't fucking try at them.”

Louis looks up at him, his mouth a thin line. “So, what? You thought you were going to be my long distance boyfriend? That we could share getting the train back and forth every weekend for the rest of our lives?”

“No,” Harry says, stung. “I never asked to be your boyfriend, did I? Just asked for what any decent person should willingly provide, Louis.”

Louis looks away at that, crossing his arms over his chest. Harry feels bad about it, because of course he does, because he doesn't mean it, obviously. Louis _is_ a decent person; kind and loving to his siblings, lovely to his mum and he's never been anything but wonderful to Harry. But maybe Harry had asked for too much. Maybe it's better, this way.

“I think you should leave,” Harry says, taking a step back from the bed. Louis looks at him sharply, clearly stricken. Harry can't let himself waver, though. There's no use in it. “If you're going to leave tomorrow. You shouldn't stay here.”

“Harry,” Louis says, like he has any right to use a tone that soft and apologetic when he's just come in and ruined Harry's life. “Love.”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head away. “Please leave, Louis,” he says, his stupid, traitorous voice trembling. “I don't want you here.”

When he opens his eyes again, Louis is gone.

-

Harry ends up staying at his mum's, showing up on her door at half-eight, puffy-eyed and red-nosed with his coat thrown over his pajamas. She ushers him in without a word and lets him curl up in a little nest on the couch, crying his eyes out about a stupid boy.

“I did want this one to work out for you darling, I did,” she says, brushing his hair back from his face. Harry whines, feeling pathetic and miserable, and lets his mum stroke his hair until he falls asleep.

He wakes the next morning feeling wrought out and confused, and it's only when he realizes that he's on his mum's couch that he remembers everything else. He'd like to snuggle back into his nest and forget everything, but he has work still, and he can't just close the Flour Crown because he's been an idiot about a boy. So, he picks himself up and gets himself to work and starts preparing the firework cookies they'll be selling for New Years.

Niall comes just by the time Harry's finished icing the first batch, decorating them with multicolored sprinkles and little swirls of color that make it look as if they're exploding.

“Looks ace, mate,” Niall says, clapping a hand to his shoulder. Harry grunts in reply and moves on to the next batch.

“What? You upset 'cause Louis left this morning?”

Harry frowns and looks at him. “How did you know that?”

Niall frowns back. “Told me, didn't he. The other day when he was in here and bought all those cookies.”

So, when Harry had gone up to the office. Louis had no problem telling Niall but wouldn't tell him. Awesome. Great. Maybe it really had been that one-sided. Maybe Harry is just a fucking fool.

“You alright, mate?”

“He didn't tell me,” Harry says, sounding choked. He feels choked, like he can't really breathe. He squeezes his eyes shut, tries to get ahold of himself. “I had to – to ask him about it. He wouldn't have told me, otherwise.”

“Shit,” Niall breathes. He sounds shocked. He sounds sort of how Harry felt last night. “I'm sorry, Harry. That sucks.”

“Nothing to do about it now, is there?” Harry goes back to the cookies, barely managing to keep ahold of them with how hard his hands are shaking.

“You need anything?” Niall asks, and Harry can tell he's worried.

“Need to work,” Harry answers. “Need to work and need to be alone. Thanks, Niall.”

“Sure, yeah,” Niall says, backing off. Harry hears the door swing shut as Niall leaves the kitchen and he stops moving, giving himself five seconds to breathe.

It'll be fine. He'll be fine, really. He knows that.

-

He goes back to his mum's that night, helps her make dinner and then curls up on the couch again, flipping through the channels on the telly. Normally Harry would spend this time reading or going out somewhere with Niall or running or something, but he doesn't feel like doing any of that. He feels like finding a bad reality show and watching it until he falls asleep.

He finds a marathon of _Great British Bake Off_ and stays there the rest of the night. Maybe he'll get some ideas for work, or something. This could be productive, and that's a nice thought. _Got my heart shattered into tiny pieces,_ Harry can say, _But at least I've got some great ideas for a new pastry!_

It feels a little like a hollow victory. 

-

The next day passes the same as the previous one, and it's the twenty-ninth by the time Harry's started to get over his little funk. Well, little funk. Mind-numbing depression is maybe a more accurate term.

Still, Harry at least comes out of the kitchen this time around, putting on the best smile he can muster up at the customers who compliment him. It's not a lot, but it's enough to have him tentatively humming as he refills the display case after the breakfast rush.

“You do have such a lovely voice, Harry,” someone says behind him and he nearly drops his plate of macaroons.

He spins around to see Jay, smiling at him, though there's a sad sort of aura about it. That's dumb, he knows, because smiles don't have auras, but whatever. He smiles back at her as best he can, his lip trembling when she sighs.

“He's a little shit, I know,” Jay says, and Harry laughs, surprised. Jay grins and it reminds him so much of Louis that he feels a little stab of pain in his chest. Ow.

“He's not, he's really lovely,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I know I said some things to him that were cruel, but it wasn't – they weren't true.”

“Of course they weren't darling,” she says, tutting at him. “And yes, he's a lovely person most of the time, but he's also stubborn and a bit of an idiot.”

Harry laughs again, softer this time, and shrugs.

“Look, I know he hurt you, but –” Jay sighs. “Just give him another chance, alright? I promise he's as messed up over you as you are over him. He just needs to remember that, yeah?”

Harry nods and clears his throat. The vise that's been around his lungs for the past two days seems to have loosened a bit, which is nice, so he says, “You want anything? On the house.”

“Hm, maybe just some of those cookies? They really are very good.”

Harry laughs and boxes some up for her, feeling a bit better as she walks out the door. Maybe – maybe everything hasn't been ruined. Maybe Harry just got it wrong, somehow. Maybe Louis has a really good reason for not saying anything. Harry doesn't want to hope, but, he thinks that Louis was probably just as terrified as he was. Neither of them acted like they should have, so maybe if they both just apologize they can be friends, or something. Friends would be better than nothing, Harry's sure.

-

He goes back to his own flat that night, determined to scrub it clean of that last conversation and start anew. He begins in the kitchen, tossing the rest of Louis' birthday cake and scouring the counters and stove and floor, then moves on to the living room. The bathroom's after that – the spare toothbrush he'd let Louis use stays in the toothbrush holder, because Harry can't quite bring himself to throw it out – and then the bedroom.

Harry spends a long time standing in the doorway and staring at his bed, sheets rumpled from their last night together and Harry's stuff thrown all over the floor from Louis' search for his belongings. Harry sighs and gets to work, stripping the bed of the sheets first. Something falls to the floor with a quiet _thump!_ and Harry frowns, picking up the covers to see what it was.

It's the poorly wrapped present that Louis had given him and Harry had never opened. Harry had assumed Louis had taken it with him when he'd gone, so he's not quite sure what to do with it now. He could get Louis' address and send it back to him unopened, but that seems petty and rude. He could open it and use it as an excuse to send Louis a message, an olive branch, but he's scared. Scared that Louis won't answer him and scared that the present will just be something dumb and not worth getting worked up over. Scared that it'll just confirm he never meant anything to Louis in the first place.

Harry sets it aside and keeps cleaning, pushing it from his mind.

-

The flat is spotless by the time Harry's flopped back on his bed, and he feels better for it, he really does. Feels cleansed, like he's the one who got scrubbed clean, even though he's actually sort of grimy. He ought to shower, probably. He lifts an arm and takes a whiff of his armpit.

Yeah, definitely ought to shower.

He finds the present again once he's out of the shower, stuffed in a drawer with all his joggers and jeans. Harry frowns at it, tapping his fingers on his dresser.

“Fuck it,” he says, taking the thing out and tossing it on his bed before pulling on a pair of sweats. He sits down on his bed afterward, turning the package over and over in his hands. Finally, he slips his fingers under the folds in the paper to gently tear it off.

The box underneath is black and embossed with silver text. BURBERRY, it reads, and Harry lets out a long breath.

“Louis,” he says to himself, fingertips tracing the edges. “This is too much.”

He lifts the lid gently, tears welling up in his eyes when he sees a folded scarf inside, all dark red with a gold pattern on it. There's a note on top that Harry picks up to read.

_Hazza!_

_This is for you, so maybe your neck won't freeze off whilst you skate._

_xx  
Louis_

“Jesus Christ,” Harry says as he sets the note aside and picks up the scarf, letting the soft material slip through his fingers. It's beautiful, and it must've cost a stupidly large amount of money. It's just a scarf, a fancy scarf, and it really shouldn't have Harry emotional as he is. He finds his phone and pulls up his message thread with Louis.

 **opened my present, hope that's ok** , he sends, nearly jumping out of his skin when Louis replies almost immediately.

_of course. It's yours. you like it?_

**I love it xx** Harry sends back, and then, for some reason he isn't really sure of, calls him.

“Um, hello?” Louis says when he picks up, making Harry's heart rate kick up. “Harry?”

“Hi,” Harry says, and immediately has to clear his throat. “Louis, hi.”

“Hi.”

“Um.” Harry pauses. He can hear things happening in the background of wherever Louis is, and it sounds like there are people there. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, no, just let me –” The background noise disappears and Harry relaxes a little. “Sorry,” Louis says, clearing his throat. “Just the telly.”

“Right,” Harry says, and lapses into silence again. It's oddly comforting, if not really awkward, to hear Louis breathing on the other side of the line. Like Harry didn't just dream him up, or something.

“I wanted to say I'm sorry,” Harry says eventually. “For the things I said. I was – I was hurt and I liked you so much so I just lashed out. I'm sorry.”

“Liked?” Louis repeats, and Harry squeezes his eyes shut.

“Like,” he says quietly. Might as well just tell him the truth. It's not like he'll ever see Louis again anyway, probably. “I like you so much.”

Louis lets out a breath that turns into an odd little noise at the end. “I'm – I – I've got to go, Harry.”

Harry frowns. “What?” Is he seriously doing this again?

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry Harry, really.” He does sound a little bit sorry, at least. “Please know that I didn't mean those things I said and I should have told you and I regret not telling you, alright?”

“Um, okay,” Harry says, clearing his throat. “Thank you?”

“Of course, sorry again,” Louis says in a rush, and then, “I'm sorry I've got to go, bye,” and hangs up.

Harry frowns at his phone until the screen goes dark.

-

Harry walks through the snow on his way to work the next morning, his boots crunching on the new layer of white and leaving footprints. No one's been around to clear off the streets yet, so Harry figures he's got a little extra time in his shop.

The phone call he'd had with Louis the day before yesterday had left him feeling out of sorts, but better about the whole thing. They'd both apologized and were mature adults about it, so Harry figures he can move on. It's time for that, probably. Not much of a mourning period, but the relationship – if you can call it that – was only a week, so it's fine. It's really, really fine.

He gets to work setting up everything that needs to be ready for tonight. They've got a sort of reversed schedule today. They're opening the Flour Crown at 5pm to throw the annual New Year's party. Niall's in charge of the alcohol, just like every year, and Liam will be there to make sure no one hurts themselves. He's good like that, Liam is.

Harry lets himself into the bakery, smiling as the bell above the door jingles. He's got a list of things to do after he puts his stuff away. He'll have to take down the Christmas tree and its ornaments and all the paper snowflakes he'd put up over the month of December. He'll have to move the bigger furniture up the stairs – he ought to call Liam for that, actually – and he'll have to set up the amp and microphone for announcements and such. The fairy lights can stay, because they add a nice atmosphere, and also Harry doesn't want to bother with a ladder.

He bounds up the stairs to his office, dumping his coat and everything on his desk before going back down to get started.

-

Hours and hours – and some bumps and bruises – later, Harry stands behind the counter and watches people mill around and talk to each other, dancing in the little makeshift dance floor and gorging themselves on all the food Harry's made. Niall's got quite the bar running, and his tip bucket is filling up rapidly.

He makes loop after loop through the crowd, smiling and chatting and making sure nothing runs low. By ten-thirty, he's exhausted, and has to sit for a bit in one of the chairs he'd left downstairs.

“You look like you could use a nap, mate,” Liam says, sitting down in the chair next to him. He's been limping ever since he dropped the corner of the couch on his foot whilst helping Harry move it, but he looks happy.

Harry laughs and picks at the edge of his cup. “When couldn't I use a nap?”

“Dunno,” Liam shrugs. “You seemed really happy for a few days there. Just like, lit up, y'know? Dunno if I've ever seen you like that.”

Harry bites his bottom lip and shrugs, taking a drink from his cup so he doesn't have to answer. He was happy, and he knows he was happy. He isn't sure if he'll ever feel that happy again. Which, he knows is really dramatic and kind of stupid, but it feels like it right now, especially with all the people here having a great time and just, like, enjoying each others' general company. Harry's having a good time too, but he could be having a better time, he knows. It's just rubbish.

“You'll feel alright again one day,” Liam says, and Harry looks over to him, laughing.

“I hope so,” he says with a sigh, and Liam claps a hand to his shoulder and stands.

“I'd bet money on it,” Liam tells him, and disappears into the crowd. Harry finishes off his drink and follows him.

-

It's an hour later when Harry realizes they should start getting the champagne ready for the New Year's toast, so he lets Niall know and slips into the kitchen to count the cases and bring them out. He opens the door to the refrigerator, shivering slightly at the gust of cold.

“Hi,” a voice behind him says, and Harry whips around so quickly that he nearly trips over his own feet. As it is, he stumbles a bit and catches himself on the edge of his large metal island. The fridge door closes with a heavy _snap!_ behind him, the only sound besides the faint echo of the music playing in the other room.

“Oops,” Harry says eventually, because he doesn't know what else to say.

Louis smiles at him, tentative but no less beautiful, and Harry feels his heart surge up into his throat. Louis is _here_ , in the Flour Crown, and not in London, and he didn't tell Harry he was coming but he's here. There's a suitcase beside him, like he's planning to stay.

“I feel like we've been in this position before,” Louis says with a teasing lilt to his voice, and Harry lets out a ragged breath.

“Louis,” he says, managing to right himself. “What are you doing here?”

The smile fades off Louis' face and he takes a step forward. “I'm – I'm here to apologize.”

Harry shakes his head. “You did that already. On the phone.”

“Right,” Louis nods. He lets out a breath, looking up at the ceiling for a moment before looking back to Harry. “I quit my job.”

Harry's mouth opens like he's going to say something, but it's absurd because he doesn't have any idea what to say. What is he supposed to say? That's not what he expected Louis to tell him. What exactly he did expect, he's not sure, but it wasn't that.

“Um, okay,” Harry says slowly, his brow furrowing.

“Fuck, I'm fucking this up,” Louis says, covering his face for a moment. He takes another deep breath and looks up again, his eyes strangely intense. “I quit my job because I hated it. I was unhappy, and I knew I was unhappy, but it didn't matter because I didn't have anything that made me happy,” he says in a rush, edging around the island and making his way toward Harry. Harry feels frozen, rooted to the spot, Louis' words making his pulse race and his heart swell with hope.

“And then I met you,” Louis says quietly, coming to a stop just in front of him. “I met you and you made me so, so happy, Harry. I didn't – I didn't know what to do with it. I didn't know I could feel like that, y'know?”

Harry nods, unable to do anything else. His mouth won't work, his vocal cords won't work. Fuck, his brain is hardly working.

“And then I fucked everything up, and you were so mad at me – which, rightly, I mean, I would've been pissed if I were you –” Harry huffs out a laugh at that, his knees going weak when Louis grins up at him. “So I left. And then you called me, and I thought – I told myself I couldn't let you just move on, right?”

Harry nods and Louis takes another step forward, reaching out to rest his hands against Harry's chest. It's a tentative touch, but it feels so fucking good that Harry relaxes into it, nearly sways forward into Louis.

“So I quit my job,” Louis says, “And I – I packed a bag and I came here. If you'll – If you'll have me.”

Louis looks up at him when he's done, tongue darting out to lick his lower lip and Harry lets out another ragged breath, this one he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.

“Fuck, _Louis,_ ” he says, and swoops down to kiss him. Louis goes up on to his toes and kisses him back, one hand going to the nape of Harry's neck to hold him there just how he likes. Harry wraps his arms around Louis' middle and hauls him up, laughing when Louis squeaks against his mouth.

“Why am I just learning about this trick of yours?” Louis punctuates the question with a nip to Harry's top lip, making him groan.

“Lots of things you don't know about me,” Harry says, and hoists Louis up onto this island. It's clean, at least, which is ideal. Obviously Harry will have to clean it again, but at least Louis won't get flour all over his jeans.

Louis pulls back, his hand on Harry's jaw. “I want to know them, though,” he says softly, smiling down at Harry, the sides of his eyes crinkling.

“Okay,” Harry says, and kisses him again.

A shout from the doorway startles them apart and Harry turns around sheepishly to see Niall looking at him expectantly.

“Champagne?” Niall asks, and Harry nods.

“Right, sorry,” he says, and goes back to the fridge to haul the crates over to Niall.

“Hi Louis,” Niall says as Harry works – rude, really, because one of them could help him, he's sure – “Glad you got your shit sorted.”

“Hi Niall,” Louis laughs. “Me too.”

“There, that should be enough,” Harry says, setting the last one down just on the opposite side of the door. “Get Liam to help you, bye.” 

He shuts the doors and locks them, flipping Niall the bird when he makes a face through the little windows. Harry wishes there were a curtain, or something, but whatever. He's not ashamed. If people want to watch him and Louis make out, that's their business.

“Hi,” Harry says again once he's stumbled his way over to Louis. He kisses him, soft and sweet, and then again with a little more intent.

“Hi,” Louis says with a laugh. “We're not going to go out there for the toast? The countdown?”

“Nah,” Harry says, shaking his head. “Figure we'll do well enough on our own in here, eh?”

“Yeah.” Louis smiles down at him fondly, brushes a curl back from his forehead. “Suppose we will.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! [come talk about it if you want.](http://jessimond.tumblr.com) HAPPY NEW YEAR!


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